The Allure of Julian Lefray

by R.S. Grey

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  Dean shook his head. “It’s nothing, man. They aren’t fucking, dude.”

  “Yet!” I said, throwing my empty beer bottle into the bin a few feet away. The glass slammed against the other bottles as I pushed off the railing.

  “Where are you going?” Dean asked as I walked away, toward my demise.

  “To get Josephine.”

  He laughed. “Try not to get any blood on my boat in the process.”

  I wasn’t going to make any promises.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Josephine

  The name of the game was avoidance. I was avoiding Julian’s stare as he watched me from afar the entire morning. I was avoiding my desire to glance his way, to confirm that the girls were leaving him alone. He kept his distance, but his gaze had a way of constantly reminding me that he was there, on the boat, just as sexy and unattainable as he’d ever been.

  After he’d finished taking my photos, I’d tried to keep myself as far away from him as possible. It seemed easier to keep my composure with him on the opposite side of the boat. Unfortunately, none of the girls on the boat were volunteering to be my friend (shocker), which meant I was at the mercy of Dean’s guy friends if I didn’t want to be a loner. One of them in particular had taken a quick liking to me.

  Eric was a manager at one of Dean’s restaurants, and while his beefy look wasn’t my usual M.O., beggars can’t be choosers. He was nice and didn’t set off my standard “BACK UP THIS GUY IS A CREEP” alarm.

  “I think we need another drink,” Eric said, waggling his eyebrows playfully.

  “More drinks?” I asked, trying to gauge how drunk I was. We still had a few hours on the boat and if I didn’t pace myself, I knew I’d be in trouble. I’d already had three margaritas, which was more alcohol than I’d had in a few months. Another drink and I’d be three sheets to the wind.

  “Just a shot,” Eric said. “C’mon.”

  There was loud music blaring over the speakers of Dean’s boat so that I could hardly hear myself think, much less listen to my logic. Why couldn’t I have a shot? It was free, and I was on a freaking boat.

  “Yeah, Jo, why don’t you take a shot with Eric,” Julian said from right behind me. I’d never heard him so angry.

  I braced myself before turning around, but it didn’t help. My stomach dropped when I spun to take him in. He was right there, less than a foot away after a morning of staying away from me. I held my breath as he leaned in close, his breath hitting my cheek as he tried to whisper in my ear.

  “He wants you drunk so he can fuck you.”

  His whisper was loud. Loud enough that I knew Eric had heard.

  “Julian!” I leaned back and narrowed my eyes, annoyed with him for acting like a drunk asshole.

  I cringed and mouthed “sorry” at Eric. He shrugged and smiled, not even denying the accusation. Well then…

  “You’re such a tease. Such a fucking tease,” Julian said, swaying slightly as he spoke.

  He reached out to steady himself on my arm, gripping tighter than necessary.

  Eric stepped forward, but I shook my head.

  “It’s fine. He’s a friend,” I said to Eric, trying to keep the situation from getting any worse.

  “A friend?! Ha!” Julian laughed as if I’d just said the funniest thing in the world.

  “Er, I’m going to go grab those shots,” Eric mumbled, backing up as if realizing he didn’t want to mess with any of my craziness.

  “Grab us all one, Eric. C’mon, we’ll all take a shot. You, me, and Jo. Oh, I’m sorry, you probably don’t know that’s her name. Josephine. J-O-S-E-P-H-I-N-E.”

  “Julian,” I whispered, reaching out to grip his arm to hold him steady. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  He stared down at where I was touching him as if mesmerized by the connection.

  “What the hell has gotten into you? You’re being an asshole,” I hissed, dipping my head down so no one else could hear me.

  “What’s gotten into me, Jo?” he asked with an incredulous tone.

  He took a step closer to me, pulling my body flush with his. His hands gripped my upper arms and his mouth met my hair, just above my ear. His chest pressed against mine so that I could feel his wild heartbeat hammering a crazy rhythm.

  “You,” he bit out.

  I’d never heard the word uttered with so much anger.

  I leaned back, trying to catch his eye to see if he was serious, but he moved at the same time, jostling the beer bottle from his hand. It slipped between us, landing with a thud in the center of my big toe.

  SHIT.

  “Ow! Fuck, Julian,” I groaned, angry that the damn thing had landed on my foot and not his. I picked up my foot to relieve the ache, but it didn’t do any good. When I glanced down, I saw a trickle of blood dripping onto the deck from where the glass had cut my skin. I could tell the cut wasn’t deep, but I still squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm down. I hated the sight of blood.

  “Jo, are you okay?” he asked, bending down to touch my foot. “We need to get a bandaid for this.”

  I shook my head, too annoyed to listen to him. I pulled out of his grasp and headed for the door to the cabin, praying Dean would have some kind of first aid kit stored away down there. Even just rinsing it with water would be better than nothing.

  I limped to the stairs, thankful that no one seemed to be privy to our little argument. The cut was bad enough, I didn’t need embarrassment piled on as well. I unlocked the door and slipped down the stairs, careful not to drip blood anywhere.

  Thankfully the cabin was empty and I was able to find the bathroom just off the main room to the left. It was small, but functional. Dark cabinets hid toiletries and towels. Beneath that, I found a small first aid sack.

  I reached to unzip it just as a hand wrapped around mine, halting my movements. I jerked around to see Julian hovering over me with clear intent.

  “I’ve got it. I don’t need your help.”

  “Stop,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes.

  “You’re being ridiculous. Take a seat on the sink and let me help you,” he said, jerking the first aid kit out of my hand before I could protest. My blood was still boiling. Who did he think he was? He’d caused the damn cut and now he had the audacity to boss me around like a child?

  I opened my mouth, ready to argue, but something in his stare warned me against it. I took a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth, and then I pushed up onto the sink and crossed my arms.

  I’d let him clean my cut and then I’d get the hell out of there. I’d rather sit up on the sundeck by myself than deal with his brooding crap.

  He knelt down on the floor and slid my foot out of my sandal. I stared at the wall behind his head as he cleaned the wound and rifled through the first aid kit.

  “It doesn’t look too bad,” he said as he tore open a Band-Aid.

  I tightened my arms across my chest and ignored him. Instead, my mind ran through what had just happened a few minutes earlier.

  “What’s gotten into me? You.”

  You.

  The tight ball of tension in my stomach uncoiled and then wound into something darker, sexier, needier. Julian wanted me. He’d just admitted it.

  I nibbled on my bottom lip as he wound the Band-Aid around my toe. He tossed the wrapper into the garbage, zipped up the first aid kit, and tossed it into the sink beside me.

  When he finally stood, he interrupted my view of the wall so that I was instead forced to stare at his chest. It rose and fell with that same wild rhythm as before.

  My mouth opened, but no words slipped out.

  It was a matter of seconds, milliseconds, nothing-seconds before he slammed the door, confining us both in the small space. There had hardly been room to move before he’d stepped inside, and now I was stuck. Stuck sitting on the sink as Julian blocked my only escape route.

  I fought to breathe, fought to
see past the next few moments. It was impossible; I couldn’t see beyond those four walls. I couldn’t see beyond that eight square feet of space.

  I turned to reach for the door handle, to push it open and get some fresh air, but Julian was faster. He caught my hand in his and held it down against the sink. I couldn’t move my fingers beneath the weight of his grip.

  “Julian—”

  You’re drunk.

  You’re my boss.

  You’re too sexy, too old, too everything.

  Every possible ending to my sentence fell short as I met his eyes and found a look of such burning desire that I was rendered speechless.

  “Tell me to leave, Jo,” he insisted.

  I couldn’t.

  “I’ll leave and then you can go right back to flirting with those guys upstairs,” he said, leaning forward and gripping my waist.

  “They all think you’re so sexy. They think they could be the one to have you.”

  His fingers tightened around my waist and I clenched my teeth together. There was a tipping scale inside of me. On one side, my anger boiled over, so ready to snap at him for acting like he owned me. On the other side—the side that I knew was about to tip—was my desire to finally know what it felt like to succumb to Julian.

  One second we were two people with separate lives and separate desires, and the next we were together, so achingly in need of one another that I thought I’d scream until my voice gave way. He picked me up off the bathroom sink and we collided into the bathroom wall. I gasped, scared that every single person above could hear the ruckus we were making.

  His fingers dug into my hip, scraping my skin and making me cry out.

  “You’re being an asshole,” I hissed.

  He kneed my legs apart and I wound a leg around his hip, pulling him closer.

  “You look so fucking good. It’s driving me insane.”

  I yanked his hair. Hard. He reared back and stared up into my eyes. Those hazel irises were clouded with lust, so dark and tempting that I feared what they could do to me if I only let them.

  The challenge was there, written in our body language. He ground himself against me and I tightened my leg around his waist. His fingers slipped beneath the material of my bikini bottom and I let my fingers slide down the back of his neck.

  “Do it,” I told him, staring straight into his eyes. “Just do it so we’ll know.”

  I watched his chest rise and fall. Once. Twice. And then his lips were on mine, crushing me back against the wall. It fucking hurt to be slammed into the side of the boat. I fisted his hair and tilted my head, trying so hard to keep up, knowing full well that I never could.

  The match was lit and the blaze that grew between us was spreading beyond our control. My skin burned with it as he untied the knot behind my neck. The thin material of my bikini top slid away and just like that, I was completely bared for him. So exposed that I wanted to squirm away from his gaze. It was too much. I knew he’d be too much.

  The deep groan that followed as he cupped my breasts spread the burn through my body. His mouth dipped to taste my skin, kissing down the very center of my chest, over the swell of each breast.

  I gripped his shoulders and let my head tip back, too weak to carry the burden any longer. He propped me up onto the sink and I wound my legs around him.

  I ripped the hem of his shirt as I tried to pry it over his head. He resisted, not wanting to let go of me for even a second.

  “Julian,” I groaned, frustrated that he wasn’t giving me the access to him that I craved.

  He growled and ripped the shirt off his head, practically splitting the fabric down the middle.

  I untied the string of his swim trunks and the material sagged down. The dark hair that was sprinkled across his chest led down the center of his pants, down to what I craved most. He didn’t even seem to notice. He was enamored by me, spreading his touch over every inch of skin he could reach.

  I was so ready, almost angry with how ready I was for him.

  The continuous tease of having to be around him the last few weeks had built up the desire in my veins. Each day the passion had built with no outlet for escape.

  Now, we finally had the chance to do something about it—in this fucking bathroom. I knew I could finally alleviate the ache. I slid my hand past the waist of his swim trunks and gripped him in my palm.

  “Fuck,” he moaned, leaning his head against the glass over my shoulder.

  I slid my palm up and down slowly, feeling the length of him. He’d fill me up, sate my desire, and leave me with a feeling of utter completion. I knew that…now I wanted to feel it firsthand.

  “Julian—” I breathed, prepared to beg him at that point.

  Just then, a fist pounded against the bathroom door, practically shaking it off its hinges.

  “Excuse me! Some of us need to use the freaking bathroom!”

  I jumped a mile in the air, scrambling to pull my hand out of Julian’s swim trunks and cover myself lest the person actually pried the door open like they were threatening to do.

  “Seriously. I need to pee!” the girl yelled again, just as pissy as before.

  She kept pounding her fist against the door, rattling the wood on its hinges.

  “Shit,” Julian groaned, shoving his hand through his hair and taking a step back.

  I was sitting there with my legs splayed open and my breasts poorly hidden behind my arm. I knew how I looked. I knew why he couldn’t look away.

  His gaze slid over me and his nostrils flared.

  “Hand me my cover-up, you jackass,” I said, pointing to where it lay in a puddle on the floor.

  He raked his hands through his hair and then bent down to retrieve it.

  I took a deep breath and tried to settle my nerves.

  Another round of pounding started on the door, louder and longer this time.

  “Stop fucking pounding. We’re coming,” Julian yelled.

  “Julian—

  He shook his head and looked away. “If you had any idea how much I’m restraining myself right now, you’d tie that bikini back up and put your dress back on.” His hazel eyes swept across me. “I’m two seconds away from fucking you while she listens outside.”

  My mouth dropped.

  “It’s your call.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Julian

  Can someone die from a case of blue balls? Would I be the first?

  I was due to visit Lorena on Sunday afternoon. We had an entire sheet of topics to cover that she’d emailed to me the night before. (Apparently you have a lot of time to create Excel spreadsheets in rehab.) I needed to get my head in the game but I’d hardly managed to sleep off my hangover from the day before. Every time I took a step, it felt like a donkey was dropkicking the back of my head, and I was still carrying around the weight of what could have been, thanks to the boat-ride-from-hell the day before. The next time Dean invited me on his boat, I was going to come prepared with a box of condoms, a padlock, and a port-a-potty for the top deck. For fuck’s sake, I’d been two seconds away from reaching the pinnacle of nirvana, and White Wine Wendy couldn’t hold her pee for a minute longer.

  WE WERE ON A BOAT. Pee off the side dammit.

  “Julian! My beautiful, annoying big brother,” Lorena sang as I pushed through the door to her room. She was sitting at her kitchen table with papers spread out around her, clearly ready to conduct business. Me? I was ready to stick my head between my knees and pray for the apocalypse. The fiery pits of hell had nothing on the pounding headache positioned right behind my eyes.

  “C’mon. You’re walking like a snail. We have a lot to get done and I have a rebirthing ceremony at noon.”

  I arched a brow. “Rebirthing ceremony?”

  She shrugged. “They give you cookies. It’s the only time they give you actual sugar in this place. It makes no sense. I was addicted to cocaine, not sweets. Why do I have to pretend to be ‘born anew’ to have some freaking candy?”

  �
��I’ll sneak you in some the next time I visit,” I promised, pulling out the chair across from her. The sound of the metal legs scraping against the floor felt like daggers stabbing my head.

  I leaned against the seat and waited for the room to stop spinning. When it did, I was met with a smiling Lorena, clearly pleased to see how shitty I felt.

  She looked more like her old self than she had in years. Gold bracelets encased her right wrist, jingling every time she moved. She was wearing bright green glasses and her hair was braided across the crown of her head. Her shirt read, “Black is the new black,” which I found funny even in my present state. She looked like the Lorena I’d grown up with, the creative genius that no one really understood.

  “Do you have any new spaces for me to look at?” she asked, drawing the topic back to work.

  I groaned and forced myself to get it together. I’d promised Lorena I’d take care of her business while she was in rehab, and I didn’t want to let her down.

  Josephine and I had narrowed down our top three picks for her store. I passed Lorena a folder with photos and floor plans of the three spaces. She vetoed the first two right away, cursing their uppity locations. The third one—the location Jo had found during her morning walk—Lorena loved.

  “And it’s within our price range?” she asked, scanning through the photos I’d brought along with me.

  “It’s at the top, but the foot traffic would ensure that the storefront would pay for itself. We’d convert the back space to offices. I think people will like the idea of shopping at your store, knowing there’s a chance that they’ll get to meet you while they’re there.”

  She nodded, enamored with the photos. “I completely agree. I can’t compete with Michael Kors, but there’s something about a designer you get to know. Everyone wants to brag to their friends that they bought a dress that the designer handpicked for them.”